Charitable Cause
by PatronSaintOfBEGA
Summary: Know why you don't want to accept what you know you need? In which Moses doesn't take charity, and Brooklyn isn't being charitable. Experimental rubbish, review and I love you!


**Charitable Cause**

**---**

He'd had a tough couple of weeks, which hadn't been his fault. Not the landlord's fault, either, that another tenant had moved out and he needed more rent. Or the hospital's fault that Monica was just about ready to leave and Moses hadn't had time to tidy up at home so it'd look good when she did get back. So nobody could've blamed him, then, for dropping by Garland's house at the weekend, or for having a beer or two and a bit of a grumble. And by the time he'd explained the situation and clarified suitably, nobody could've blamed Garland for having fallen asleep. He was often wearier than expected, but then so was Moses. It hadn't mattered much anyway, because Brooklyn had still been listening, tilting his head to one side but not interrupting or looking away. Except when Moses had finally run out of things to say and gone back to the beer, and then,

"You can have my allowance for this month. We're in town tomorrow. I'll transfer it to your account."

Moses had put the bottle down again, shaking his head.

"No, you - "

"I got some nice things for Christmas. I won't be using it."

And then he'd uncurled from the armchair and left, ignoring a look of surprise over the beer bottle.

---

Temporarily consoled, Moses had gone back the next morning and spent the two days before Monica came back tidying their apartment. And money had just gone by the board - there were things in the fridge, after all - until it was Thursday and he'd swung her down from his shoulders on the way home, to stop at an ATM. Monica liked to press the buttons.

"Think we have enough for Domino's," she was asking excitedly, Moses chuckling in response.

"Yeah, if you like." There was always overtime. Then he'd turned back to the screen and blinked at it. Run his eyes over it twice, a frown gathering. Stared until Monica tugged at his coat.

"Have we got enough?"

"Y - yeah. Yeah." Shaking his head and hands a little, he'd tapped at the machine's keypad, withdrawing twenty dollars and hardly thinking about it. "...C'mon, let's go Domino's."

---

They'd got the pizza take-away, and Moses had made sure Monica was properly settled with it on the couch before going out again. He could get a _taxi_ out to Garland's house, instead of walking from the bus stop, and had done so simply because it got him there quicker, Kylie seeming surprised to see it driving off when she'd opened the door.

"Oh! Hey, hi Moses. I'm afraid Gar's out at the moment, but - would you like some tea, or something? Come in, it's cold out here."

Privately agreeing with that, he'd stepped inside the lobby and let her shut the door.

"I'm kinda looking for Brooklyn, actually."

The girl had only paused, to her credit, and raised her eyebrows a little.

"Ah? Okay...try in the first dining room, then. It's down the hall this way, just listen for the piano."

"Thanks."

She'd looked at him again, and turned away into the kitchen without comment.

---

The dining room hadn't been difficult to find, but Moses had hesitated in front of its glass-pannelled door. He'd only just opened it, and now stood under the lintel trying not to fill the doorway so much. It proved a dead loss; he took a few steps forward, and stopped again to the side, leaving the door open. Things he'd thought of to say proved another loss. He watched his teammate's hands go still on the piano, fingers sliding off the keys to hover over them, curling inwards.

"Hey."

"Hey."

He couldn't imagine what it was like. Being so used to playing piano that your fingers waited above the keys to carry on. He frowned as something clicked into place inside.

"Hey, I just...came from home, and..." Not stuttering into silence was difficult. Because who the hell threw that kind of money around? You couldn't have it to _waste_. "...Thanks," he managed, shoving both hands awkwardly into his pockets. Scowling at the herringbone wood pattern under his feet.

"That's okay."

"Good." Chucking cash about like that, how could anyone - be used to it? Brooklyn hadn't even turned away from the piano, just paused. Moses clenched both fists, and then his mouth as well, in case suddenly-welling resentment spilled out of it. That or guilt, which might have been worse. When people were nice - gave you things, you liked them. Didn't suddenly want to hit them or shake them because they'd been so careless and hadn't even _moved_.

"How did - where did you get that money," he asked, glancing up as briefly as possible.

"My parents are - what would be described as successful. They send fifteen thousand each, so I don't have to bother them for anything."

Moses took in a breath, and looked up again. Brooklyn still hadn't even really shifted, only just enough to watch him placidly. His fingers were still paused in mid-air.

"Yeah...right. Thanks," Moses repeated, wanting to knock the hands away, and baulking at his own - quite unexpected - ingratitude. You weren't supposed to hate -

"It's not to try to make you _like_ me," the other told him, without expression, "Or anything." Moses felt his face twist into outrage.

"_What_ then, huh?" Brooklyn put his head to one side.

"You need it."

"I - " The resentment was going to overflow before the guilt did, that was for sure. "No way. No."

"Yes you do. Your rent's gone up, if nothing else."

"I have a job."

"One you're sick of, you said so." Moses regretted ever having mentioned it, and gritted his teeth so as not to yell just that. He had been _told_ that Brooklyn did things like this for fun, but hadn't believed it. He hadn't wanted to believe anyone would. "...It's your money. You do what you want with it."

"No."

"Leave it where it is, then, you'll get a good amount of interest."

"Take it _away_."

"If I was prepared to do that, then transferring it in the first place would have been somewhat insincere, don't you think?"

"Stop messing with me!" For himself, Moses didn't think he had a very quick temper. But when Monica's future was involved - which it had to be - well, that was another matter. "Stop it, it's not funny. Why'd you...?"

"You need it. You have dependents, and rent and utilities. I don't have anything to spend it on, you do. It's your money, I already said."

Moses automatically went to protest, but stopped with his mouth half-open. How could you have nothing to spend thirty thousand dollars on? But then - he obviously _did_, because it wasn't as if Garland charged boarding fees, or anything. Moses hadn't ever considered life without Monica before, but now the idea flickered across the back of his mind and nearly made him flinch.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah." He nodded for confirmation, shaken. "Yeah. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Brooklyn looked back at the piano again, hands still waiting over the keys; he seemed to want to carry on. Moses wondered if that was all he was planning on doing today, and how it felt if it was. He shuddered.

"Can I listen?"

The other didn't move.

"No. You need to go home."

He tapped the ATM card in his left pocket. Then turned, nodded, and shut the door on his way out.

---

**NOTES:**

**Weeeeell, that was wretchedly imperfect, eh folks? Experimental-type shite. Geez. feather-duster has temporarily run out of happy-like fics, sorreh. Also out of decent writing, mostly because her allowance is nowhere near $30,000 a month, and she's poor and sickly. Woohoo! Anyone who wants to join in singing "I Will Survive" is quite welcome to. Or if you would prefer a different karaeoke track, kindly leave your suggestions in review form. K thx.**

**...Yes, that's rather a lot of money.**

**...Yes, Domino's pizza is delicious.**

**...Yes, it's a moot point whether Moses is rational today or not.**

**And YES, feather-duster will love you more, than she did the week before, she discovered alcohoooool...if you leave a review.**


End file.
